


Stay A While

by TrekkieSlut



Series: The Definition of Retirement [1]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Just Married, M/M, Nostalgia, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 08:31:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2686127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrekkieSlut/pseuds/TrekkieSlut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Spock settle down in Jim’s old family home. Part of a series in which Jim and Spock adopt a pet, Jim feels haunted by his family and his past, they get used to being older, and generally are disgustingly cute. Part One written for the Old Married Spirk Challenge 2014.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay A While

Spock had seen the house before. He’d seen it in flickering deteriorating memories, somewhere in the depths of Jim’s mind. The images spoke of a time in Jim’s adolescence, a flighty and uncertain time for the aspiring young captain.

Sunlight streamed into the hallway when Jim swung the door open, sending the sitting dust up in swirls which caught the light. Through the floating flecks Spock caught sight of the narrow staircase that had been photographed in his mind until now, the smooth white painted bannister now cracked with time. 

The recesses of the hallway remained in shadow, the high midday sun not yet reaching into its depths. Spock knew the sun would swing down and beam through the front west-facing windows in the living area, where in his mind a young Jim was curled, enthralled by a book in the window seat, the light setting his hair aglow.

The image came to life as they wrestled their way down the cramped hallway with their baggage, heading through the door on the right hand side and into the combined kitchen and living area. Jim deposited his bags on the hardwood floor, which creaked as he moved over to the bay window, pulling back the faded curtains. The window looked out over the dry tussock-riddled fields, burned out by the heat of summer – the house was flung a few miles out from any other dwellings. It was 4.6 miles from the nearest township.

The room around them bloomed into light – a few pieces of mismatched furniture, covered in dust sheets, were clustered around the traditional hearth. The adjoining kitchen was separated from the rest of the room by a varnished wood-topped breakfast bar, and was fitted with all the basic appliances one might require to cook a meal from scratch, as well as a small synthesiser, a model from maybe 6 years back. 

Spock looked out through the French windows to the left of the fireplace, stepping up to them and peering out into the unkempt yard with compacted, dried out soil patches and a small greenhouse, the panes encrusted with lichen. Jim noticed his curiosity and smiled.

“Oh yes. I forgot to mention there’s a garden, Spock. You can use it if you like.”

Spock turned to him, interest on his face and a quirk in his lips. Jim’s face split into a grin and he planted his hands in his pockets, shrugging. “Welcome home. I know it’s not much…I know it needs work. But it’s ours.”

Spock met his partner’s gaze, and realised that Jim was waiting for a reaction.

“It is lovely. I am gratified that you own such a peaceful abode.”

Jim’s face shone, his eyes bright with amusement. “Ours,” he corrected. “What’s mine is yours now, remember? Officially.”

“Indeed.” Spock glanced at the ceiling. “Shall we?”

Jim held out his hand and Spock took it, letting Jim lead him up the stairs. Jim’s mind pulsed waves of nostalgia, something intriguing and unfamiliar to Spock. Faded photos lined the walls of the landing, and Jim pushed open the doors, letting the air flow through. Firstly his mother, Winona’s old bedroom, with its white walls, shuttered windows and double bed. “We can use this room.” Next was Sam’s room, plastered with posters of forgotten dreams and locked in a teenage world, filled with stacked-up boxes. Sam Kirk, a man Spock had only seen once life had left him. Finally, they entered Jim’s old room, suspended in the state of his pre-Starfleet days, a slightly faded version of the picture in Spock’s mind. 

Jim sank down onto the bed with its navy sheets and quilt throw, every bit like he did as a child, though his feet now touched the floor, and stared with a daydream look at the now out-dated poster of Federation planets on the wall.

“Jim,” Spock said quietly. Jim’s eyes smiled up at him again and he patted the quilt. Spock sat on the sagging bed beside him with a creak, resting his hand on Jim’s.

“Look at Vulcan,” Jim pointed at the off-red, closer-to-orange globe on the poster. “I knew so little back then, but I longed to visit.” Jim huffed out a laugh. “Then when I finally did, you tried to kill me for a woman you didn’t love.”

Spock stiffened but Jim laughed and patted his hand, his mood lifting.

“Jim, many Vulcans do not experience love for those they are made to marry.”

“I know. But you do love me, I know you do, and it’s alright if you find it difficult to say. I am honoured to have your love, Spock.”

Spock stroked his fingers down the bones of Jim’s hand and pressed his lips to his cheek, then the crinkles in his temple.

“Do we have access to boiling water?”

“Of course. That’s an idea, let’s make some tea.”

Whilst Jim was heating some water and rummaging around in one of the bags they brought for some tea, Spock pulled some of the sheets off the furniture, folding them neatly. There was a wicker chair with a round cushion, embroidered with the image of a domestic Terran feline. A faded brown leather sofa, a small armchair with tears in the floral fabric and its innards poking out. He sat down on the sofa and Jim brought him a mug of Vulcan tea, a blend that was gifted to them as a wedding present, and a piece of cake on a chipped plate.

Spock blinked. “Is this…?”

“Some of the remaining wedding cake? Yes. There was plenty left over.” They had wanted something resembling tradition, but nothing too extravagant, as a centrepiece. They agreed on no icing, since neither of them could stomach it, though the cake itself came out beautifully marbled with its blend of carrot and plomeek. Jim had broken out into delighted laughter when both Christine and Janice showed him the results fresh from the oven, their grinning faces covered in flour. Christine certainly had learned a thing or two about the diversities of plomeek over the years.

“I’m sorry, Spock, I just realised, I should have carried you over the threshold. Since we are, technically, newly-weds.”

Spock paused, looking over at Jim with crumbs dusting his lips, gauging his sincerity. Jim grinned again. “I know, it was only a formality. But I feel it’s something that deserves celebrating.”

“Very much so.”

“Mom would have been thrilled to know we’d come here. She would have loved the wedding. She would have loved you.”

Spock’s face softened, an indication of sympathy and respect. He raised his hand, two fingers extended, and traced them along Jim’s jaw in a kiss. “T’hy’la.”

They sat together on the sofa like that for a while, enjoying the peace of the house, until the sun sank down and cast rays through the bay window, shining uncomfortably into their eyes. They set the plates and cups down in the sink and stored the cake tin in the otherwise bare pantry. They had a few food items, but nothing substantial, so they decided to wander out into the town for some essentials once they’d unpacked some more of their belongings.

It was a long time since Jim had needed to store away his belongings with the intention of sticking around somewhere. It was an exciting and unfamiliar thing, made odd by the fact that this place felt like and smelt like family. He hadn’t known what to expect by coming here. He’d never brought Spock here before, he’d never really officially lived with Spock before, but so far Spock was the most familiar and comfortable thing in the house. 

He closed the wardrobe, now separated into three sections – his own shirts, Spock’s, and then his mother’s old suits and dresses. He’d have to sort out her belongings at some point, he noted.

He turned to Spock, who was folding socks and putting them into the bedside drawer, examining the small, framed photo on the top. It featured Winona, Sam and Jim. Winona had shoulder-length brown hair with silver strands, curling like Jim’s was now, and wearing what Spock knew as Jim’s signature grin. The young Jim wore that grin, his eyes alive and glinting, his face full of dimples. Sam had Jim’s hair, Jim’s face, but the smile was struggling.

“Let’s put up some of our own photos, Spock. This place needs refreshing.”

Spock nodded in understanding. “Of course.”

Jim kicked at the tufts of grass poking up between the paving stones that created a path out to the main dust track, admiring the apple trees he used to climb whilst Spock locked the front door. The Vulcan raised an eyebrow as he walked down the small wooden steps, seeing Jim hold out a jacket and a scarf to him.

“Will I be requiring these?” he asked, accepting the garments tentatively.

“It’ll be cold once the sun goes behind the hills at this time of year, trust me.”

“How long are you expecting we will be?”

“It’s nice to wander,” Jim replied, taking Spock’s slender dry hand in his own and setting off down the path.

The wooden fences stretched for miles in a straight line, all completely inconsistent in height, many of the horizontal beams broken. Occasionally a wooden power pole stretched high into the air, unconnected to anything, merely a relic from a time when power lines were not entirely subterranean. Cicadas chirped from the odd scattered bush, and some perched upon the fences. Spock paused to watch one, and Jim pointed out a husk shed by one attached to a tree-trunk. A light breeze tossed the branches and sent shifting patterns of light through the canopy as they walked under. 

Jim cut through empty fields, climbing over barbed wire like he was 10. He stepped over a trickle of a stream, but observing the ground Spock could see that at some points during the year the water flow must not have been insignificant. Jim chuckled and beckoned to him. Spock didn’t question him and followed – it was wise to accept anything that Jim Kirk did as normal, especially in this category of environment. 

That didn’t stop Jim from noticing his trepidation. “Just think Spock. Bones would approve of the exercise.” He swung his leg over another fence and hopped down, holding out a hand.

Spock took it, even though he needed no help climbing over the obstacle. “Leonard enjoyed the ceremony.”

Jim laughed. “You noticed that too? I thought he never would, after all the stressed-out mothering he did.” 

Leonard had been there to yell the ever predictable ‘about damn time’ when they’d made their announcement. He’d been the one to fuss over Jim’s bow tie at the last minute and flat out insist that they walked them damn selves down the aisle. Everyone had noticed him anxiously checking his pockets every ten seconds to make sure the wedding bands hadn’t run away some place. His hands had been the clammiest in the room.

Jim laughed out loud thinking about it. Spock looked at him inquisitively.

“He was rather strongly affected by the whole ordeal.” Jim just laughed harder.

“I think your dear mother was glad that the tissues she brought came to good use.”

“She had believed that she might require them herself. Leonard, apparently, had a greater need.” Spock looked up to the pale blue sky, watching birds flit across it. “Was it really necessary for Nyota and Christine to restrain him?”

“Not really. I think they were clinging to him to provide emotional support more than anything, Spock.”

Spock had been rather bewildered by the doctor’s emoting, Jim recalled. He was sure Spock knew Bones’ fondness for the pair of him, but perhaps he never expect Bones to express it to him directly. No less in the form of physical contact.

“Do you suppose he was serious about bribing Montgomery to delete the photographic evidence of him embracing me? And being openly lachrymose?”

“According to Bones, five bottles of scotch should do it.”

“…And according to Mr. Scott?”

“According to Scotty, I had a better offer. And a more extensive liquor cabinet.” Jim grinned wickedly. “We can frame the photos if you like.”

“Jim, I believe that in human terms this constitutes as being cruel.”

“Nonsense. Bones’ll get used to it.”

They climbed over a final stile and walked down a straight path to the village. Places like this were rare – the area was quiet and sparsely populated, people knew of Starfleet and their missions but they were earth-focused. Jim needed that for now. In San Francisco, people would flock to him. Here, he was Winona’s boy. They would know he’d been places even if they didn’t know him, obviously, given his companion, but they wouldn’t bother them. It wasn’t as though the area had never seen extra-terrestrial life before.

A dog trotted past them, sniffing at their knees, followed by a boy. The dog’s cold nose touched Spock’s hand and he flinched away.

“It’s just a dog, Spock. There’ll be a few of them around.”

“I am aware of the species. It was merely a peculiar sensation.”

Jim was amused. He anticipated being amused by Spock’s reactions to his home town quite frequently, in fact. “It’s alright, Spock. I don’t imagine you’re a dog person anyway.”

“A ‘dog person’, Jim?”

“Yes, as opposed to a cat person.”

“Are you referring to my feline ancestry?”

“No…not necessarily. I’m only suggesting that you may prefer cats over dogs.”

Spock frowned in confusion. “Are those two animals the only options?”

Jim sighed and took Spock’s elbow. He refused to believe that the Vulcan wasn’t making an effort to be playful at times.

They picked up rice and flour, potatoes and onions, and also milk and corn from the local produce section. Jim left Spock to pick out fruit (which he scanned thoughtfully) whilst he went to restock on spices. The selection available was pretty much entirely Terran, but there was always the option of getting things shipped to their door. He picked up some curry spices, lentils and chickpeas, and snagged a jar of tamarind off the shelves as well – he wasn’t sure if Spock had ever had it, but had a feeling that he would appreciate the flavour.

He met Spock around the corner carrying a bag of apples, a bag of pears, a string of garlic and a leek.

“You’re carrying all that.”

“I intended to.”

They checked out, sharing the load between them. The young woman in dungarees who had packed their bags looked at Spock like she had a question.

“You’re a Vulcan,” she began. Jim prepared to go on the defence.

“I am.” He looked to her and Jim recognised the almost imperceptible shrinking back in her body language that Spock’s gaze seemed to cause in many people at first meeting. His eyes were piercing to someone unaccustomed to him.

“Well…” she continued, faltering before reaching under the counter. “These came through in an order of Vulcan tea not too long ago, by accident I think. Do you know what it is?” She held out a small rough-skinned bulb with dark green roots.

Spock took it, sniffed it, and turned it in his hand. “I do not know what this is. I might be able to identify a fully grown plant, but not this.”

“You could grow it, Spock.”

Spock looked intrigued. The girl seemed hopeful. “Here, you can have a few!” She deposited several into one of the bags and smiled kindly at him.

Spock blinked at her. “Thank you.”

The sun cast their shadows longer across the ground as they traipsed back through the fields. Spock paused partway to don the jacket and Jim wound the scarf around his neck, kissing him on the nose. “What did I tell you? Familiar territory.”

By the time they got back, the sunlight flowed in deep into the back of the hallway, jogging Spock’s library of memories again. Winona ran her fingers along the spines of the books in the shelves, plucking out a dog-eared copy of a novel that her small smile indicated a fondness for, dusting it off. She bent to a small Jim, his arm in a sling. “There you are, James. An adventure for you. No more broken wrists, okay?”

Spock looked over the empty bookshelves as Jim deposited the shopping in the kitchen. “Where are the books, Jim?”

“They’re in the boxes upstairs. We can put them back if you li-” Jim heard the stairs creaking. “Oh, you’re doing it now?” Jim shrugged to himself. He unpacked their food items, stuffing as much of the perishables as he could into the small fridge, deciding immediately that they needed a bigger one. Obviously Winona relied on the synthesiser more than they ever would, but he couldn’t stand eating synthesised food when fresh ingredients were plenty.

He chopped an onion, broke off a couple of garlic cloves, and potatoes went into water to parboil. He heard shuffling outside as Spock opened up the boxes of books, pulling them out. Perhaps it was a better job for Spock to do - left to him, it would take hours as he reminisced over every one.

Spock arranged the books into alphabetical and date order, given that there were many in collections written by the same author. He slid them into place on the shelves – Adams, Asimov, Bradbury, Brontë, Dickens, Fry, King, Pratchett, Shakespeare, Tolkein, to name a few. There were a number of reference books that either Jim or Sam must have sent home over the years – guides to star clusters, constellation interpretations amongst different Federation species, an introduction to traditional Orion music and dance. He stacked the larger photography books on their sides on the bottom shelf. Satisfied, he wandered into the kitchen to find Jim sprinkling spices into a pan of caramelised onions.

“Done already? That was quick.”

Spock nodded. “Would you like to check that my cataloguing system is satisfactory?”

“Well, I don’t need to, but…” Jim went to look. The fragrant spices caught Spock’s nose and he went to investigate Jim’s concoction. Smoked paprika, chilli, and something unfamiliar. He tested the potatoes in the pot with a fork and chose to drain them.

“That would drive my mom mad, Spock,” Jim joked, returning to the room.

“The books are ordered in a logical manner,” Spock replied, slicing into a softened potato.

“Supremely. That’s fine. I don’t mind.” Jim opened a vacuum pack of chickpeas. “She had everything ordered by genre though. Non-fiction. Adventure. Sci-fi. Fantasy. Romance. Like that.”

Spock looked perplexed. Jim tittered in amusement and tipped the chickpeas and potatoes into the onions. He brushed Spock’s hand as he did so. “Your hands are freezing! Light the fire if you like.”

Spock moved off to do so. It wasn’t so much a fire as a modern-day heater which simulated a fire, as easy as pushing a button, set into the original brick structure. It emanated a pleasant warmth almost immediately.

“Of course there’s no rice cooker…another thing for the shopping list,” Jim muttered to himself over in the kitchen, tipping dry rice into another pan of water and setting it on the stove to boil. Spock watched him rub a hand down his back, stretching up with a click and a small groan. Jim was well built and retained the musculature and fitness of someone who had recently been active on a starship, but he was fuller in figure than he had been some years previously. To Spock, he looked, to choose an appropriate human term, happy. Something about this softer Jim exuded a homely warmth that Spock appreciated dearly. And he understood that a vigorous massage was in order if Jim was popping his joints like that.

This projected over to his husband, who hummed in appreciation. “Ohhh, that would be good, Spock.”

Jim dug out some dinner plates and served them both steaming rice and a dollop of curry. They sat at the breakfast bar on high stools to eat.

Spock sniffed at the unfamiliar odour again. “Jim, what is that unusual scent?”

“Tamarind. You’ll like it.”

Spock raised a forkful of the curry to his mouth. The tangy flavour spread across his taste buds, blended with the spice and smoky paprika. Something in his eyes must have lit up, because Jim smirked in victory, reaching to smooth Spock’s hair.

“You’ve got dust in your hair. The house is falling in on us already.”

Finishing up, they stacked the dishes in the dishwasher and curled up in the lounge. Spock cradled one of the Kirks’ older tomes in his hand, gently turning the delicate pages. He settled his page-turning hand back into Jim’s hair, running his fingers through the waves and curls. Jim dozed in Spock’s lap, enjoying the warmth of his fingers and the soft hum of his mind. Spock lifted his head, looking out of the window at the dying glow of the sun on the horizon, the sky fading off into greys and blues. Higher up he could already see the weak glimmer of stars. He cast his eyes back down to the page, thinking that for now he’d find it preferable to explore the worlds written down on paper, or at least give it a trial run.

Jim shifted in his lap, seemingly half asleep already. “I’ll get some paint to touch up the bannisters. We might need some new picture frames too.”

“Another day, Jim.”

“I know.” Jim yawned. “I’m just…thinking out loud. You’ll get used to it.”

“I am used to it already. Is that not the essence of being married in human terms?”

“Maybe…” Jim fell quiet. “Let’s stay a while, Spock.”

“I understood that this was already our intention, or was I mistaken?”

“No, you weren’t. I’m more just…trying to cement it for myself I suppose. I guess a part of me is worried I’ll want to jet off up there again, even though I feel like we need this. Am I right?”

Spock met his chestnut coloured eyes, and nodded slowly. “You may be correct. Kaiidth, my t’hy’la.”

The final glimmers of light faded out, and Jim rose to close the curtains. They scattered some more dust, and he sneezed. Spock turned up behind him, his hands a firm pressure on his shoulders, rubbing, his breath puffing into his hair. Jim rolled his shoulders back, pressing back against his bondmate.

“I could use that massage around about now, Spock. Shall we have an early night?”

“That would be welcome.” Spock grumbled against him, encircling Jim in his arms. They turned down the lights, ascending the creaky stairs. Closing off the door to the bedroom, the remainder of the house fell into darkness.

Jim splayed out on his front on the bed with a deep sigh. Spock’s weight disturbed the bed as he settled down behind him, tugging up his shirt. Jim sleepily helped him pull the garment off, discarding it off the side of the bed. He laid his head on his hands, looking peaceful.

Spock spread his hands out flat over his partner’s shoulder blades, digging in with his fingertips, working smoothly inwards and applying more pressure. Jim’s mind glowed appreciation, and Spock sent back relaxing thoughts through his buzzing fingertips.

They spent quarter of an hour like that, in a feedback loop of mental and physical stimulation, Spock kneading out all the muscles down Jim’s back and Jim sending back all his open affection. Spock drew it up and let it centre him, his fingers drinking it up like roots.

Finishing the massage, Spock kissed the back of Jim’s neck in thanks.

“Mmmm…‘sgood,” Jim managed.

They settled down beneath the covers, Jim spooning Spock closely, lying quietly. Eventually Jim yawned out a command for the lights to dim, and the room fell dark.

Jim nuzzled into Spock, focusing on his soft inhales and exhales. The sheets smelled like something familiar but far distant, burning in the recesses of his memory. He cradled Spock like an anchor, confident that wherever they were the man he loved knew and understood his uncertainties.

With Spock he was home.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoyed reading this! It's been a while since I've written a story like this (hahaha...) and it was good fun, it kind of unraveled as I went along, I got a lot of feelings.
> 
> Big thanks to my cat Nutmeg for waking me up so I could finish this on the morning it was due.
> 
> Apologies for any errors, as I have not had a chance for this to be betaed. If you liked it, it'd be great if you could let me know, I love all your feedback :D


End file.
